


Toasty

by Zee (orphan_account)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, cuddling for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-09
Updated: 2006-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold out here. Come heat me up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toasty

Rodney had lived in Siberia for five months, and Antarctica after that. He knew cold, and he knew how much he hated it. 

This? This was beyond cold. This was an *entirely new level* of *fucking freezing* and calling it merely ‘cold’ was an insult to it.

And he was only wearing his t-shirt and light, military jacket and vest. Rodney hunched over, rubbing at his arms and trying to get the feeling back into them. “What the *fuck* kind of planet is this?! This is inhumane! This is worse than the Genii and the Wraith combined! If this stupid galaxy *had* a Geneva Convention, this would *definitely be against it!*”

They were on yet another planet where the locals had decided to capture them, only this planet was rather unique as the jail cells (pens, really, if you wanted to be specific) were outside. Outside, on a planet that turned to *ice* at night. Rodney was speechless (okay, not quite) with fury. 

Ronon was ignoring him; he was circling the cell, searching for a means of escape. It just aggravated Rodney more. "Do you even grasp the severity of this situation? No, of course you don't, you probably come from a species of big muscly supermen that never ever get cold. So you'll just stand there staying toasty warm while I freeze to death. *Wonderful.*"

Rodney rocked back and forth a little, and considered writing down his last words, maybe scraping them into the ice. Maybe the morons on this planet would miraculously transcribe it, and it would miraculously somehow get back to Earth. If Rodney was going to die, he at least wanted people to be properly mournful, and not just get written off as MIA.

"Here." A rather smelly coat was shoved in Rodney's face, and he blinked. It was Ronon's brown trenchcoat.

He peered up at Ronon. "Don't *you* need that? Unless you really *are* somehow immune to the cold, which—wouldn’t surprise me much, actually."

Ronon shrugged. "I'm fine." The unlike you, you pussy was left unsaid.

"Stoicism will get you nowhere," Rodney snapped, but he snatched the coat anyway, pulling it around him. It smelled strongly of various substances Rodney couldn't identify, and was made from materials that felt... not *oily,* but close enough. At least it was warm. 

Ronon sat down heavily beside him. "There's no way out of here."

"I could have told you that. For one thing, outside these walls stand a bunch of guards that are ready to kill us at a moment’s notice. And I know you think you’re invincible, but they took both of our big guns, so we’re pretty much screwed.”

Ronon just grunted. They sat like that for a while, and then Rodney noticed Ronon shivering. He tried to hide it, but Rodney frowned. He wasn't naturally disposed to be generous, but the relatively-warm coat he was warm had belonged to Ronon in the first place.

"This thing is huge, there's no reason not to share it,” Rodney said, gesturing with the coat. “Oh come on, it's not like I have cooties," he snapped when Ronon looked apprehensive.

Rodney wrapped the coat around the both of them, and Ronon squeezed in next to him, wrapping one huge arm around his shoulders despite Rodney's vague noises of protest.

And really, it wasn't that the coat smelled *bad.* Now that Rodney's nose was just a few scant centimeters away from Ronon's neck, he could see that it smelled like Ronon: which *really* was not a bad smell, just -- earthy. Strange. Almost exotic, except that that was a word you used to describe perfume, not sweaty men.

Rodney wasn't even aware of snuggling closer until Ronon wrapped another arm around him, pulling him so close that Rodney's face ended up pressed against his chest. It was infinitely less cold now, though Rodney was still shivering a bit, and--was Ronon stroking his back?

He was. Long strokes from Rodney's neck down to the small of his back, with those huge hands bringing so much extra warmth. It felt so good that Rodney caught himself moaning a little, which made Ronon chuckle. Rodney could feel it, deep down in Ronon's chest, vibrating against Rodney's cheek.

"Are you--hey!" Rodney *knew* what this was and it was getting out of hand and it was vastly inappropriate and they were sort of kind of maybe in public, but when he tried to get away Ronon just tightened his grip, and the strokes became more... purposeful.

"You need to relax." Ronon's voice was gruff and amused, and Rodney wondered if he was laughing at him. There was nothing funny about the warmth of Ronon's hands on his lower back, however, or the texture of his callused fingers when he slid a hand up underneath Rodney's shirt to touch his skin.

And then--Rodney squeaked He didn’t remember his ass being an erogenous zone, but apparently some things changed. 

Ronon’s hands were hot and *huge* inside the back of his pants, touching bare skin and just stroking the cleft, teasing, and Rodney groaned and grabbed the front of Ronon’s shirt. He scooted forward and snuggled closer, and oh god Ronon was hot. Temperature-wise: he felt *blazing* compared to the chill outside of their coat-tent, and Rodney wanted more.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, knew he must be blushing like an idiot. He kissed Ronon’s neck to hide it, licking at the interesting little tattoo that looked kind of like pi. Ronon made another low grumbly noise at that, and his hand clenched on Rodney’s ass.

It was far too cold to actually shed clothes. Rodney squirmed and rocked against Ronon’s leg and hip, hinting not-too-subtly. And oh lord, Ronon definitely got the picture, because the next thing Rodney knew there was a strong hand gripping his cock and another one brushing his hole.

Rodney muffled any embarrassing noises against Ronon’s throat and rocked back and forth between his hands. He could barely even feel the cold any more: all his senses were locked and concentrated on Ronon, his hands, the feel of him, what he was doing to Rodney. He was dimly aware of the coat sliding off their shoulders onto the icy ground, but there were more important things on his mind, like the cinnamon-y taste of Ronon's skin and the holygodsogood pressure of Ronon's hand against Rodney's dick. Rodney could feel it through his pants and briefs, could feel the rough teasing touches around his asshole, and it was going to make him come--Ronon was going to make him come. 

And then there was no 'going to' about it, and Rodney's pants were soaked and ruined, and this was going to make him even colder.

Ronon's hand was under his chin, tilting his head up for a messy kiss, and Rodney found that Ronon's mouth tasted even better than his skin. He stuck his hand down Ronon's pants and Ronon groaned into his mouth; pumped into Rodney’s fist a few times, and then it was over and Rodney’s hand was wet and sticky.

Rodney pulled away from the kiss eventually to breathe, and immediately missed the warmth. He quickly grabbed the coat from the ground, wrapping it close around the both of them. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, hyper-aware of the mess on his hand and in his pants. “Well. That was.”

Ronon yawned. “Not a bad way to waste time.” His voice was low, languid, pleased. Rodney glared at him.

“We just had – oh god. The cold must be clouding my judgment.” He made a half-hearted effort to push Ronon away, but the arms around him were implacable.

“You worry too much.” Ronon’s voice was now back to amused, and Rodney *knew* he was blushing again. Dammit.

Rodney sniffed. “I feel very violated.”

“Oh, yeah. I can tell.” Ronon yawned, and the next thing Rodney knew a very large man was slumped against him, snoring softly.

They were still in a very, very bad situation, but somehow it was hard to get too worked up about it now. He adjusted them until more of the coat was around him and the wetness in his pants wasn’t making him too cold, and drifted off to sleep himself.


End file.
